


What was left unturned

by Pegaltan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Gen, Growing Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pegaltan/pseuds/Pegaltan
Summary: Iwaizumi had been a forgotten god, waiting to disappear.Then he meets Daichi.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime & Sawamura Daichi, Iwaizumi Hajime/Sawamura Daichi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 77





	What was left unturned

**Author's Note:**

> AU with a bit of Noragami/American God flavor. I honestly did not expect this piece to hit 7000+ words.

There is a hole on the roof of his shrine.

It’s been there a while.

Iwaizumi watches as water drips steadily in tandem with rain. 

Had he been a god prone to regrets, he might have wished that his last believer had the foresight to replace the rotting shingles with tiles baked in fire. But Iwaizumi is a practical god, one who understands the breadth of things. He is not like Oikawa, who flirts with believers as easily as he breathes. He is not like Hanamaki who can forcibly convert other followers as his own.

He is himself.

The little shrine in Miyagi is his last connection to the mortal world. He touches the dusty corners and the mossy walls and blesses the whorls in the wood. He watches and watches and watches as water drips through the hole in the roof and stains the floor. 

Suddenly, three children burst into his shrine off a beaten path hidden in the grass. They don't know that it is a shrine. The sign fell off years ago. The ropes are decayed. The boys merely seek shelter from the rain that has caught up to them while they were out hunting frogs. 

The frogs, of course, escape. 

One stamps a muddy footprint across his shintai[1] and ribbits unrepentantly as he tries to shoo it away.

Iwaizumi is furious.

When the sky clears, the boys stumble out one by one. But the last one, the boy with dark hair, dark eyes and a set to his shoulders Iwaizumi, on a better day, might call dignified, bows in front of the doorway and shouts, “Thank you!”

The next day, the boy is back. And it brings a smile to his face to see him dragged by his left ear. An old man scolds him for the mess and puts him to work, telling him where the cobblestones should go and weeding the vague impression of where a perimeter might have been when his name was something still spoken out loud.

The old man, in spite of his appearance, is pretty strong. He pulls Iwaizumi’s sign free from the tangled undergrowth and leans it against the back of his shrine, coughing into his shoulder to catch his breath.

The boy sweeps with a too-tall broom and wipes his shintai with his sleeves. He giggles when he finds a lone frog behind the mirror and lets it free outside. 

Iwaizumi glares as the frog hops away.

“Grandpa!” The boy shouts. “The floor is still dirty!”

The old man takes a look and shakes his head.

“That’s a water stain.” He points up at the hole in the roof. “See that? That’s where all the rain gets in and rots the wood.”

The boy wrinkles his nose. 

“Can we fix it?”

The old man shrugs. 

“We’ll have to get some tools, new wood…”

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

The boy has no volume control. 

Iwaizumi is a god and he has no idea how the old man isn’t bleeding from his ears. 

“Sure Daichi. But weren’t you planning to play with Sugawara-kun[2] and Ikejiri-kun?” 

The boy pouts and crosses his arms. 

“It’s not **playing**. We’re going hunting!”

The old man raises an eyebrow.

“Well, be sure to stay away from the pond. You don’t want another scolding from your mother do you?”

Daichi deflates. 

“But grandpa,” the boy demands, tugging on the old man’s sleeves. “We can fix the floor tomorrow right?” 

Iwaizumi does not hold his breath. He does not—he shouldn’t expect anything from them. He **_cannot_**.

The old man looks from the water stain on the floor to the rusted mirror. Iwaizumi cannot help but feel very small. He should have—he can’t actually do anything. Not anymore. But they are visitors to his shrine. _Potential_ believers. He should have prepared something for them.

Anything. 

After a moment, the old man says, “Alright Daichi, we’ll come back tomorrow to fix the floor.” 

Iwaizumi lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Daichi is the closest and it flutters across his scalp. Daichi giggles and the old man gives the boy a long look. 

For the first time in a long while, Iwaizumi lets himself hope.

And it almost kills him to let the two go.

True to their word, the old man and his grandson return the next day. The old man does most of the work, measuring materials and sawing off the damaged floor, while Daichi fetches things, gets distracted by a particularly colorful butterfly and dozes off with his back against Iwaizumi’s shrine. 

Iwaizumi sits down next to him and peers into his face. Daichi frowns but otherwise doesn’t move. He wakes up for lunch and musters enough energy to make his shintai gleam. The repaired floor cuts a blocky shape against the old wood and Iwaizumi hasn’t decided if he likes the change but Daichi seems pleased as though he’d hammered the nails in himself.

“Grandpa.” Daichi says, placing an offering of wildflowers and a rice ball before his shintai. “What about the roof?” 

“Not today.” 

“Tomorrow?” Daichi asks hopefully.

The old man pats Daichi’s head.

“Next time, Daichi. Next time. You read the news with me today. Why, it won’t rain for the rest of the week!”

“But what if it does?”

Daichi’s face wobbles.

It has the charming effect of making the old man sweat.

“What’s wrong Daichi?” He picks his grandson up whom immediately throws his arms around his grandfather’s neck.

“I didn’t know houses got hurt.”

The old man lets out a small huff of laughter.

“Oh Daichi, you are a thoughtful little boy.”

And he carries Daichi and the tools he brought with them back onto the beaten path.

They leave the broom behind.

It’s a small consolation. 

Daichi and his grandfather don’t come back the next day.

Iwaizumi tries not to feel disappointed.

Or the next.

The day after, Iwaizumi looks at his shrine. Really looks at his shrine.

As shrines go, he’d seen worse. The structure at least, is still intact. His shintai had seen better days but the mirror is as clear as the day it was set in the ironwork. He cannot help the rust. He does his best to keep weeds from crowding his yard completely.

He gets an idea to lift his sign somehow. Put it back on the roof where visitors can read his name under the eaves.

The sign doesn’t even budge.

The old man does not come back the next day. But on the next day, Daichi does.

The boy peeks through the tall grass as though expecting someone but it’s just Iwaizumi. A god with no followers, no worshipers and no believers. A god with but one shrine, a god who spends less and less in the mortal plane but feels his pulse quicken at the sight of a little boy who doesn’t understand where he is. 

Daichi sweeps with a vengeance.

He’s not good at it. All he does is move the pile of dust from one end of the yard to another. The broom is too long for him and Iwaizumi can’t help but smile. 

_“Oy, you don’t have to do that.”_

Daichi doesn’t hear him.

In the old days, when his name was remembered by living men, young boys would pour sake in front of his mirror and make offerings of bamboo-wrapped rice. 

Daichi, spotting the sign leaned against the side of his shrine, tries to move it and fails. 

_“You’re going to hurt yourself.”_ Iwaizumi warns him. 

Daichi tilts his head sideways and tries to read the characters left to right. 

“Iwa (rock)”. 

Color floods his cheeks. Somewhere in his chest, stuck in an artery somewhere, persistent like heartburn, heat blooms. As try as he might, it tickles his insides and he hisses, _“That’s right. Come on kid. Read what comes next.”_

To his credit, Daichi tries. He sticks his tongue out through the corner of his mouth and traces the character for water over and over again at the base of izumi (fountain).

“It’s not paper...” .

He slaps his forehead.

Daichi thinks that the sign spells rock- _paper_ - _scissors_. 

Iwaizumi realizes that he doesn’t know how old Daichi is. But he can’t be that young. He read the first character. All he has to do is read the next character.

There are only two characters on the sign. It’s his name. All of the boys who helped out at the shrine knew how to say his name. It frustrates him to no end that Daichi cannot. That he might not know. And that Iwaizumi can’t help. Because he’s been on the far shore for so long, humans had forgotten him. 

Disappointed, Iwaizumi can barely look at him.

Daichi grabs a stick. Stroke by stroke, Daichi traces the characters in the dirt. Wipes it away and tries again when he runs out of space. 

After he is satisfied that he can write the character without reference, Daichi declares, “I’m gonna ask grandpa!” 

Iwaizumi sighs. _“You spelled izumi (fountain) wrong._

 _“But hey,”_ he continues, staring at the ground. At the botched character for fountain. _“Thanks for trying.”_

Daichi is a cheerful child. He is not a very spiritual child. Half the time, he forgets to bow before the shinten and instead, makes funny faces in it after wiping it clean. Iwaizumi doesn’t mind.

He visits his shrine more often. If he’s being honest, he is at his shrine every day.

As long as Daichi is there, the dilapidated, little shrine feels less shameful. He actually has a yard now. Sometimes, he even forgets that there’s a hole on the roof. The good weather is holding and it pours sunlight instead of water, filtering through his clothes and skin.

He likes to sit and watch.

“Daichi.” Another boy pops out of the grass as Daichi is sweeping.

“Suga!” Daichi shouts excitedly.

“Daichi, what are you doing here?” 

“I’m sweeping!” 

‘Suga’ looks worried. He looks from the shrine, where Iwaizumi is, to Daichi, who is oblivious. He grabs Daichi’s arm, hazel eyes knowing.

“Come on, you promised to play with me.”

“Oh okay,” Daichi says agreeably and leaves. 

Daichi never stays for _too_ long after that. 

Iwaizumi yawns, waiting for Daichi. When he leans back, his fingertips catch on the patch of fresh wood. If it hadn’t been there, if he couldn’t feel the rough grain and the hint of sweet sap, he might have thought that he was dreaming.

And if it is a dream, it is a good dream.

There is a hole in the roof of his shrine. It’s still there. It hasn’t been fixed.

The old man never came back but Daichi did and he is grateful.

He can see storm clouds gather on the horizon. It will rain soon. The beginning of the summer monsoon season. The rain will drip down and rot the wooden floors. And all he can do is watch. He sighs, brushing off his knees. Ready to go back to the far shore where he can hopefully find someone to serve him warm sake.

But he hears the telltale slap of sandaled feet. A sound he might have ignored or dismissed out of hand if he hadn’t known Daichi might be coming. His heart lifts, threatening to tug free from beneath his collar. An upwelling of warmth that lights his entire body.

The first drop of rain wets the grass as Daichi comes into view. He’s swinging an umbrella in each hand, one yellow and the other red.

He notices that humans don’t make umbrellas they used to. It’s no longer oil paper painted with ink. Instead, it is made of a strange, slippery sort of material that reminds him of fish.

Suspicious, he tugs at the yellow fabric-skin-material and sniffs but doesn’t catch anything particularly offensive.

Daichi fidgets in place as rain begins to dot the ground. Like he needs to pee. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

_“Go inside, you idiot. You’re going to get soaked.”_

Daichi looks at the umbrellas in his hand and decides on red. He leaves the yellow umbrella at the entrance of the shrine and loops the red cord around his wrists. 

_“What are you... oy, oy! That’s dangerous!”_

It takes a moment for Iwaizumi to react.

Daichi begins to climb the side of his shrine. Daichi, with his spindly arms and bird-fragile ribs, pulls himself towards the roof and hangs precariously from the flared edge.

There is a hole in the roof that will start leaking water. He can hear the uneven drip, drip, drip as water begins to pool under the wood shingles. Daichi wants to stick an umbrella on top to _fix_ it.

Daichi has a very good balance. Soon, he’s on top of the roof. But he is a kid. More importantly, Daichi cannot hear his warnings.

Iwaizumi has never felt more powerless in his life.

Daichi opens the umbrella and catches wind inside the red canopy. His mouth falls open in a brief ‘o’ of surprise. He doesn’t scream. It might have been better if he had because Iwaizumi can’t. And even if he could, no one would hear.

Daichi does not see Iwaizumi when he reaches out with a hand, trying to catch the little idiot as he falls.

In front of his shintai, there are dried flowers, colorful beetles that have since wandered off and a stick of half-melted candy that Daichi lovingly picked out from his crowded pockets.

And he cannot. Iwaizumi cannot save him.

“ **Daichi!** ”

A pair of strong hands catch Daichi midair. The boy’s breath skips with a small hiccup as he is held in the stranger’s arms. Familiar laughter bubbles up to where Iwaizumi is sitting, limbs weak, probably a good century or two shaved off his existing lifespan.

Who is he kidding, maybe he’s already dead and this is some sort of purgatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi manages to croak, “Let **go** of him shitty-kawa.”

Daichi looks up at him in surprise.

Iwaizumi realizes, this is the first time they’re seeing each other eye to eye. Daichi is probably wondering what Iwaizumi is doing up there in the first place and why Iwaizumi didn’t help him.

“So rude.” Oikawa whines, “I saved his life you know.”

“Th... thanks mister.”

The tremble in his voice is not lost on them.

Oikawa smiles beatifically and lets him down.

“My name is Oikawa, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m Daichi.” Daichi replies, suddenly shy.

“Daichi hmm?”

Daichi points at Iwaizumi, still on the roof.

“Can you help him down as well?”

“I don’t need help!”

Iwaizumi fumes, face blotchy with color. He doesn’t know how to feel about this and settles on easy anger. Daichi nearly died. He couldn’t save Daichi. Oikawa saved Daichi. Daichi won’t want to be Iwaizumi’s follower anymore.

He hops down and swats Oikawa’s hand away when the latter reaches out to tousle his hair.

Daichi blinks at him owlishly.

“Who are you?”

“My name,” he stresses, “is Iwaizumi.”

“Are you a ghost?” The boy asks.

Oikawa, being the shitty bastard that he is, laughs.

“A ghost!”

“I am not a ghost!”

Daichi’s eyes light up.

“Oh, Iwaizumi, like the sign!”

“Yes, like the sign.” Iwaizumi sighs.

“I asked grandpa.” Daichi explains, kicking his feet. “He said that rock and fountain was Iwaizumi. And that I needed to practice writing more.”

The boy looks behind him at the hollow sound of rain dripping on wood. Iwaizumi is so used to it that he barely pays it mind. But apparently, this has been of a grave importance to Daichi who holds out the yellow umbrella to him. “This is for you. You can have it. I had two. I thought red might look nicer on the roof but the wind blew it away.” He looks saddened at the thought of the lost umbrella.

“The wind nearly blew you away.” Iwaizumi barks, hands strangling the yellow umbrella. “What on earth were you thinking?!”

Daichi is visibly startled by the rebuke. He gets a sort of wobbly quality to his eyes and Iwaizumi grits his teeth, resisting the urge to buckle and hug the kid.

“But your house!” Daichi sniffles. “Grandpa fixed it for you and it was going to get ruined again!”

Iwaizumi’s shrine is important to him. It is what houses his shintai in the human world. It is what tethers him away from the far shore.

He is not like Oikawa with his poetry and flattery and turns of phrase. He is not even like Hanamaki who always, always seems to know what to say. He cannot convey to a child, a child who has never seen him before, that he is important. That he may be the most important thing to a god with no followers, no believers and no worshipers. Only a shrine with a hole in the roof. A hole that leaks rain and sunlight and nearly had Daichi’s brain leaking through his ears.

“There, there,” Oikawa says smoothly, patting Daichi on his head. “Then it’s a good thing I was here right? Who knows what might have happened.” In his hand is the red umbrella. “How about if I put this on the roof for you?”

“Really?” Daichi asks. “You can do that?”

Oikawa winks.

“Didn’t you know? Gods can do anything your little heart desires.”

What a joke—Iwaizumi scowls the entire time. The umbrella makes a red patch on the roof like how there is a patch of new wood on the floor of his shrine. His roof no longer leaks and Daichi looks a little better, emptying his pockets of yet more half-melted candy that tastes like a mix of fruit and candle wax.

Iwaizumi wants to tell him, he is right there. He can give him the candies directly.

“Cute kid.”

“I don’t.” Iwaizumi emphasizes. “Want to talk about it.”

“Ah,” Oikawa says knowingly. “It’s always best to start them young.”

“Shut up trashy-kawa. Oy, Daichi, I’m taking you home.”

It doesn’t take him long to figure out how the new umbrella works. He pushes a button and the canopy pops open. It is going to be a feature in his nightmares for years to come. _Years_.

He glares at Oikawa and gives him a curt nod.

Oikawa waves.

“Bye, bye now.”

He leaves Daichi at the end of the path.

“Come to dinner.” Daichi says.

“I can’t.”

“Please? Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi shoves the yellow umbrella in Daichi’s hand.

“Hajime.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Hajime.”

And he disappears.

The rain doesn’t stop for a few days. And when it does, clouds hang low, darkly promising. Iwaizumi sits in his shrine, on the patch of wood that is new, staring up at the roof that now has an umbrella handle sticking out of it.

“Stupid Oikawa.” He mutters and clicks his teeth shut lest he invites the other god into his shrine.

Daichi is accompanied by his grandfather. The old man looks like he’s aged greatly in the last few months. His face, already worn, is pinched and wrinkled around the mouth and eyes.

He coughs as Daichi races ahead to point at the red umbrella on the roof of the shrine.

“Oh Daichi.” The old man sighs. “You could have been hurt.”

“Hajime would have caught me.” Daichi says matter-of-fact, filled with conviction Iwaizumi isn’t even sure of himself.

The back of his neck burns.

The old man shoos Daichi away, tells him to find some pretty flowers for the shrine.

Iwaizumi crosses his arms, unconvinced. But while Daichi is distracted, the old man shakily places an incense burner in front of his shintai and presses his hands together.

Standing behind him, reflected in the mirror, Iwaizumi accepts the old man’s wish.

Summer fades to autumn. Daichi mentions that school will start soon and the concept of ‘soon’ is too nebulous for Iwaizumi to grasp. It seems to him that in no time at all, Daichi is gone.

He still comes over on the weekends when he’s not playing with friends or obsessing over something called volleyball. Still tends to his shrine and talks to Iwaizumi facing the wrong direction.

In winter, Daichi worries that Iwaizumi might get cold and leaves a spare coat for him. Iwaizumi endures Oikawa’s teasing about his taste in fashion, but he wears it. He would do anything Daichi asks.

Daichi doesn’t ask.

Daichi talks about everything and nothing. Things Iwaizumi didn’t know and wants to find out. So he does. Sometimes he follows Daichi around town. Daichi doesn’t always see him but Suga does and he starts carrying around talismans which makes Iwaizumi sneeze.

“I won’t let you hurt Daichi!”

“Why would I hurt Daichi?!”

They reach a truce of sorts, he and Sugawara.

He keeps Daichi safe. He deters an overenthusiastic retriever from knocking the boy to the ground. He peels back the accidental curses from a jealous classmate.

His shrine, still small, dingy, compared to shrines of other gods, looks better. Lived in might be the right word. Well-loved, he thinks, staring at it from an angle. But he has a shrine. And believers. Three, if he counts Sugawara.

On the weekends, he yells at birds to make themselves look presentable. Persuading birds isn’t hard. They are as vain as Oikawa is. Maybe worse.

Flowers are a different matter.

“Open up.” He hisses at a particularly stubborn bud of a morning glory. It dews at the end of its spiral but remains unimpressed by Iwaizumi’s ire. “Come on, the sun’s up. You’re a flower aren’t you?”

The morning glory tips its leaves in a silent shrug.

Iwaizumi slaps his forehead.

“Okay, okay fine. I grant you and your offspring with health to perpetuity, happy?”

The flower unravels into a radiant pink flute. He grins as it climbs all the way to the top of the shrine. He turns his face up against the sun and waits.

But Daichi isn’t there that morning.

Nor in the afternoon.

And in the evening, when the morning glory has long since faded, Iwaizumi feels Daichi’s grandfather pass.

Daichi is in his mother’s lap, a harried-looking woman with messy hair and too little sleep. She rocks the boy back and forth in her arms as though he is two and not twelve.

Daichi looks so small.

“Why did he have to go mom?”

“He got sick Daichi.”

“Why couldn’t the doctors help him?”

“He was too sick for the doctors to help.”

Daichi’s mother has to go talk with the doctors. And Iwaizumi can tell, even out of practice, that she too has been shaken by her father’s passing. She is barely holding it together for her son and the rest of their relatives.

Iwaizumi reaches out. But his hands must feel like the brush of butterfly wings on Daichi’s shaking shoulders because they go through instead of holding him. He curls his fingers into a fist, powerless to help, even as his nails dig grooves into his palms. To the one person he promised to protect, to help, to keep safe, he might as well be a ghost. His voice is fainter than a whisper and his words cannot reach Daichi who is grieving.

“It’s not fair.” Daichi sobs. “It’s not fair. Grandpa!”

Worst of all is that Daichi does not blame him.

Gods fed on belief, respect, affection, love, desire, passion, greed resentment, fear, anger, all of it. He doesn’t know what that means for him. He does not know what it means when Daichi does not hold him responsible for the misfortune.

“Please, please, please, take him to heaven. Please tell him I miss him.”

That isn’t how afterlife worked. If he could, Iwaizumi would have confronted Enma Dai-O in the afterlife to make sure that Sawamura Yukichi went to heaven.

He cannot accept this wish.

He only wishes that he could. If only he was powerful enough that he could.

Daichi cannot see him. But he hugs him anyway from the back and holds him until he falls asleep.

“So Kami-sama.”

“It’s Iwaizumi.”

Sugawara waves him off.

“Why are you here anyway? Shouldn’t be at your shrine?”

“Daichi is the only one that visits.” He shrugs. “There’s no point when I only have one believer.”

“Dai-san isn’t your believer.” The boy says unsympathetically. “He’s just being nice. You are taking advantage of him.”

Iwaizumi gives him the stink eye.

“If you really believed that, you could have had your relatives exorcise me. But you didn’t.”

“It’s a waste of time.”

It’s not smart for even someone as powerful as Sugawara Koushi to provoke a minor god. But Sugawara is under the protection of his family guardian and can’t easily be cowed.

“You know young master,” Matsukawa says, picking at his ears. “You really shouldn’t tease Iwaizumi like that.”

Iwaizumi bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting for Daichi. As soon as the boy appears, he grabs him by the wrist and leads him to his shrine off the beaten path. Daichi bids Sugawara a hasty farewell as he stumbles after Iwaizumi.

“Hajime, wait up! Ha-ji-me!”

Iwaizumi does not look back.

“Shut up, I want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise!”

Daichi lights up in delight.

“I love your surprises. Is it another swallow nest?”

Late last summer, a swallow built a nest behind his shrine. The mother had been annoyed but allowed Iwaizumi and by extension Daichi, to look inside at the fuzzy little babies.

It had been the first time since his grandfather’s death that Iwaizumi had seen Daichi smile. A sad, small thing bewildered by grief and the complications that followed. He decided then that he doesn’t want Daichi as a believer. He doesn’t need Daichi to be a believer. But he needs Daichi to be okay. He wants Daichi to be happy. That’s the kind of god he wants to be for Daichi.

Iwaizumi doesn’t have to yell at things anymore to make them listen to him. But he does it anyways, because, just because.

Stupid Oikawa.

He must have said the last bit out loud because Daichi asks, “Did you fight with Oikawa-san again?”

“Don’t you dare say his name.” Iwaizumi growls. “You hear me?”

“Except I know you two are really childhood friends and grew up together.”

“He lied. We are gods! We were never children.”

The grass reaches for him at his passing. Stuck up trees that never once said hello to him, wave their branches.

He knows he has changed and it makes him—it confuses him. He’s not the type to hesitate or doubt. But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would gain a new follower after his last died half a century ago.

He squeezes Daichi’s hand and Daichi squeezes back.

The week prior, Oikawa pointed out that he had gotten taller which was weird because he was a god. Gods didn’t grow in a conventional manner. They were what their worshippers believed. Iwaizumi had Daichi.

“But Iwa-chan, look at yourself.”

He does not look down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says flatly.

“I think you grew that extra centimeter you wanted...” the other god teases and in that case, Iwaizumi has to look up and he has to bite his tongue because Oikawa is right. He’s still shorter but he’s level with a different part of Oikawa’s stupid face.

“Dai-chan is a good little believer isn’t he?”

“Don’t call him that.” Iwaizumi growls and Oikawa says thoughtfully, “I’m just saying. You’ve gained a follower. It might not be a bad thing to start branching out.”

“No.”

And that had been the end of that conversation.

“Oh wow.” Daichi breathes.

He’d better be impressed because Iwaizumi had spent a good chunk of the morning herding rabbits to clear his yard and for actual flowers to claim it as their own. It’s nothing like when he had people praying at his shrine but it’s a start.

“Did you do this?” Daichi asks, pointing at the ring of chrysanthemum around Iwaizumi’s shrine. “It’s beautiful!”

The flowers have bloomed in clusters of orange, red and whites. Some varieties are hardy enough to take root in the wood paneling and cover the roof.

“We should really replace the umbrella.” Daichi says, pointing out the faded but still red umbrella plugging the hole in his roof.

Iwaizumi shakes his head.

“Leave it. I like it.”

“Are you sure?” Daichi asks worriedly. “What if the wind blows it off?”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth at _that_ particular memory.

“ _If_.” He emphasizes. “Don’t worry about something that hasn’t happened yet.”

“I know.” Daichi says easily, sitting down and letting rabbits swarm all over him. Iwaizumi glares at a particularly fat black-and-white rabbit that sits on Daichi’s lap.

“Here.”

A bag lands on top of Daichi’s head.

Iwaizumi may have asked Oikawa for help. Just a little bit. And Daichi’s reaction is well worth the smug look on his friend’s face.

“Dumplings!” Daichi cheers.

“I know you don’t have time before practice to eat.” Iwaizumi says gruffly. “So I thought...”

Daichi digs in.

He always sets a portion aside for Iwaizumi, even knowing that he cannot eat it. Today, Iwaizumi is solid enough to accept the offering.

Daichi beams when their hands touch.

It’s not a new thing. He can touch Daichi. Sometimes, Daichi is the only thing that feels real.

“Thank you Hajime.”

Volleyball is Daichi’s passion throughout junior high. He has his heart set on Karasuno after seeing them at the nationals. Iwaizumi doesn’t know much about volleyball, it isn’t a problem he thought he would ever have, but for Daichi’s sake, and by extension, Sugawara’s sake, he, Oikawa, and Matsukawa watch Izumitate and cheer when their team scores a point. Heckles when the other team does.

To this day, legends say that the bleachers at Izumitate are haunted.

In their second match of the final tournament, Izumitate is placed against Chidoriyama.

Daichi and Sugawara carries the team but they can only do so much. What little lead they have is eaten up by the time the first set draws to a close. The ball is passed back and forth between the two teams and Chidoriyama’s middle blocker seizes and opportunity to spike the ball.

They are 24:24. If the ball lands inside the court, Izumitate loses.

Iwaizumi makes a decision. He pushes the ball outside the line.

The first set goes to Izumitate, 25:24; Daichi is staring at him.

Iwazumi has never had Daichi be mad at him. He doesn’t know how to deal with it.

This isn’t the impotent anger of Oikawa on a rampage or even Hanamaki’s chilly indifference when he feels slighted by his believers.

“Why did you interfere? You had no right!”

“I had every right!”

Lights crackle and pop overhead.

Daichi did this. Dragged him out of his monotonous nonexistence and made him _live_.

Gods reward the faithful. Should his champion not be victorious?

He doesn’t understand why Daichi is **_mad_**.

“Your team is weak.” He tells Daichi. “You can’t win.”

“We’ll never win if we don’t believe we can!”

“What do you think I’m here for?!”

“I thought you were my friend!” Daichi shouts. “I thought you believed in me!”

“I’m trying to help you!”

"I don't need your help!"

Daichi pushes him away. “Go.” He says.

There is something wrong with his ears.

“...what?”

“Go. Go away Hajime.”

Iwaizumi does not understand.

“What are you saying?”

Daichi’s eyes are black as pitch. His anger runs cold and Iwaizumi shivers in spite of himself.

“Daichi.”

“Don’t.” Daichi interrupts. “Don’t interfere. If you do, I’ll never talk to you again.”

Oikawa finds him at his shrine, staring over his yard and the field of chrysanthemums.

“Oh Iwa-chan.” He says but doesn’t say more. Which he appreciates. A lot.

“He’ll come back.” Iwaizumi murmurs, more to himself than anything else. “He’ll come back.”

Oikawa hugs him.

Daichi does not come back.

The far shores call to him, the promise of booze, easy companionship, away from mortals. None of this believer bullshit. But Iwaizumi stays. If he wants to, he can go to Daichi. He knows that Izumitate lost. Daichi must be upset. He genuinely believed that they had a chance. Iwaizumi thought so too. He’s not sure anymore.

He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting there. It takes him a while to realize that he’s not alone anymore.

“Hey.” Daichi says when Iwaizumi lifts his head.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi says hoarsely. Happy despite the fact that Daichi won’t meet his eyes. Happy because Daichi is there.

“I’m sorry.” They both say at the same time.

Iwaizumi scoffs, “Why the hell are you sorry. I’m the one...”

“Suga told me.” Daichi explains slowly. “That if I wish for something hard enough, you might try to grant it.”

“That’s not true.” Iwaizumi counters. “I decide which wishes to grant. I didn’t have to grant your wish. I—”

“I’m going to Karasuno next year.” Daichi says. “I want to keep playing. I want to go to the nationals.”

“And you will.”

Words crowd behind his teeth. Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave. He wants to throw up.

“Promise me, no matter what I wish, you won’t interfere like that again.”

A promise is not a wish but—

Iwaizumi holds Daichi’s hand.

“I promise.”

Right before the match against Fukurodani, Daichi’s shadow falls where Iwaizumi is sitting.

“What?”

Daichi hesitantly holds out a fist.

“Wish me luck?”

Iwaizumi meets him half way.

“Of course.”

Iwaizumi never interferes in Daichi’s games again.

As it turns out, he didn’t need it anyway.

“Nothing beats dumplings on a cold day.” Daichi sighs.

“You eat dumplings every day.” Iwaizumi says.

“Not every day.” He mumbles through a piping hot pork bun.

Iwaizumi reaches for his. His hand goes straight through. They both pretend it didn’t.

“No,” Iwaizumi acknowledges after a bit. “You like ramen better.”

“Were you watching me yesterday?”

It’s easier these days for Iwaizumi to manifest. But sometimes, away from his shrine, Iwaizumi likes to just watch.

“Do you mind?”

“No.” Daichi decides. “I feel safe knowing that you’re watching out for me.”

Embarrassed, Iwaizumi coughs. But he doesn’t dislike the feeling.

Humans grow fast. Before long, Daichi is looking at college.

“It’s my birthday today.”

“I know.” Iwaizumi replies. Because humans had fixed birthdays. Iwaizumi doesn’t mention that he was at Daichi’s house, saw him surrounded by warmth and family.

This he swallows.

“I’m going to college next year.”

“Next year is in three minutes.”

“You know what I mean.” Daichi huffs. “Geeze, and after all the trouble I went through to spend New Year’s with you.”

“I know.” Iwaizumi says gruffly. His ears are warm. He’s glad he’s wearing a hat. “I appreciate it.”

“I won’t be able to visit as often.”

“Remember to write.” Iwaizumi says lightly. He still can’t touch most things. Daichi is different. Daichi will always be the exception. 

“We’ll still be friends right?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course we will.”

Iwaizumi grabs Daichi’s hand and laces their fingers together.

“No matter what happens, I am your god. If you need me. Call me. I’ll be there.”

Daichi smiles.

“Happy New Year’s Hajime.”

Daichi writes.

Daichi actually writes multi-page letters that has Oikawa either gagging or sobbing like he’s watching his favorite soap by the end. Iwaizumi wishes that he could read these on his own. Privately. But he is a god with one believer, one follower, one worshiper.

He's happy.

Daichi mentions the workload, the part-time job he picked up and the college volleyball team. The words are soothing, despite the fact that they’re being read aloud in Assy-kawa’s obnoxious voice.

“Aww.” Oikawa coos, which is never a good sign. “Somebody is in love.”

“You shut the hell up.” Iwaizumi grumps.

“It’s okay.” Oikawa sighs dramatically. “We’ve all been there. Haven’t we Makki?”

Hanamaki gives them a flat look.

“Don’t drag me into this nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense!” Oikawa protests. “Iwa-chan is in love! You should be more supportive.”

“I think you’re being supportive enough for the both of us.”

“I hate you all.” Iwaizumi declares solemnly.

“Hey,” Daichi says suddenly, looking at the umbrella handle sticking out from the ceiling. It’s summer break. Daichi’s made his daily offering. He can buy sake now instead of stealing it. His shintai has been cleaned. The cicadas are singing. Iwaizumi is making sure mosquitoes stay far, far away. “Remember the time I climbed on top of the roof?”

“And almost broke your neck.” He slaps an offending bloodsucker off Daichi’s thigh. “Yes, I remember. Did you bring the bug spray?”

“No. I thought you were a god. In tune with nature and everything.”

“Wrong god.” Iwaizumi grunts.

“Oh, which god are you?”

“Funny you should ask.”

“I don’t think it ever occurred to me to ask.” Daichi says genuinely. Good, Iwaizumi doesn't want to tell him. “Anyway, I was thinking I should fix the roof. Grandpa never got the chance to and... you never let me go up there afterwards.”

“Gee I wonder why.” Iwaizumi says, packing as much disdain as he could into all four words.

“Hey,” Daichi protests. “I know better now. I’ll bring a ladder and everything.”

Daichi brings a ladder.

“I can’t fix death.” Iwaizumi says seriously. He’s not even joking.

“I’ll be careful.” Daichi assures him. “If I fall off, you can tell me ‘I told you so’.”

That’s not comforting at all.

Daichi lifts the umbrella from the roof. Iwaizumi remembers that it used to be red but sun has long bleached it an ugly pink and its rusted ribs all but fall apart in Daichi’s hands.

Daichi’s brought a couple of wooden shingles, nails and a hammer. The wooden shingles do not match the originals at all because it’s the nature of the thing. But it fits. Iwaizumi thinks. It fits the way Daichi barreled into his life and never left. He appreciates the way the new has invaded the old. He helps hold the nails in place, because Daichi is actually scared of hitting his own fingers, and watches as finally, finally, the hole in his ceiling is fixed.

Iwaizumi runs his hand over the spot.

“Well, that was easier than I thought it would be. I think I’m...”

Daichi puts a foot on the ladder but he missteps. He accidentally kicks the ladder off the side of the shrine and Iwaizumi is never, ever letting Daichi on top of high places ever again.

This time, Oikawa isn’t there to save him.

It’s just him. Iwaizumi. A god with a single believer.

It has to be enough.

Iwaizumi holds the ladder and Daichi lets out a sigh of relief.

“Whew, thanks!”

Iwaizumi looks at his hands.

He, he hadn’t been able to do that before. He can touch Daichi. He can always touch Daichi.

Daichi places a hot palm on top of his hand.

“Look at that, today’s a good day!”

“You idiot!” Iwaizumi rages. “I told you to be careful!”

Daichi backs away, still laughing.

“Wait here, okay?”

“No, I will not wait here.” Wind whips at their ankles, chasing humidity from the air. “What were you _thinking_?!”

“I’ll be right back!”

With the target of his anger gone, Iwaizumi turns his attention on the ladder, which is an inanimate thing so it doesn’t react. It’s not even a hundred years old so he can’t press it into eternal service.

He bans weeds from his yard and tells the mosquitoes to get lost or suffer.

The mosquitoes disperse very quickly.

Daichi does not come back right away. He gives Iwaizumi time to cool off.

“Tada.”

“Noodles.” Iwaizumi says, unimpressed.

“It’s yakisoba.” Daichi tempts. “I had Mizoguchi-san make them special. Try.”

“You know what happens when I try to hold these things.”

Daichi shrugs.

“You held the ladder today.”

“You nearly died.” Iwaizumi snaps. Hysterics are for Oikawa but he feels justified.

“But I didn’t.” Daichi says steadily. “You were there to catch me.”

Iwaizumi glowers at the box of yakisoba as though the answer to life could be found at the bottom, dispersed between the oily brown noodles and bits of vegetables. Daichi is right. Today is a good day. He can hold chopsticks and everything. Maybe today, Daichi doesn’t have to set aside a portion for Iwaizumi in front of his shintai.

“Fu—“ Iwaizumi swears at the sudden explosion of flavors in his mouth. How long has it been since he’d last tasted mortal food? Is it always so sweet, hot, salty? He coughs, choking on a squid ring that goes down the wrong pipe.

“Hey, hey, woah, drink some of this.”

Soda is a shock. Why does Daichi eat so much sugar?

Daichi rubs his back as Iwaizumi wheezes, sucking on an ice cube. He slumps over with the box of yakisoba in his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think... I’m really sorry.”

“What for?” Iwaizumi wipes his mouth. “It’s good.”

“Really?”

Daichi is on his knees, peering into Iwaizumi’s eyes. He knows what should happen next. He knows what he wants to happen next. Daichi’s lips are shiny with grease. He wonders what they taste like.

He can’t do that to Daichi.

“You what?”

“I know.” Daichi sighs. “And it’s a really good team too. But I can’t work and study and play volleyball at the same time.”

“And why can’t you?” Iwaizumi swears, offended at the thought of the word ‘impossible’ in Daichi’s vicinity.

“I’m only human.” Daichi chuckles. “I have to eat and sleep too.”

“You sleep when you’re dead.” Iwaizumi says, so reminiscent of Daichi’s old volleyball coach that they both burst into laughter.

“Daichi.” Iwaizumi says when the laughter dies down. “I meant what I said. If you need me, call me.”

“I know.” Daichi replies. “Thank you, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi does research. Kind of like when Daichi was first starting out playing volleyball and he had no idea what a spike was or what a middle blocker was.

In the end, he goes to the only god he’s on friendly terms with that’s actually taking care of a college-aged kid.

“Oy, why do humans need to work?”

Matsukawa doesn’t even bother to look up. He peruses the newspaper which is already a week old so the only reason it’s out in the open is because Matsukawa has been forewarned. Damn Oikawa.

“You know how it is.” Matsukawa says, bored. “Money exchanges hands for labor. More money, more things humans can do. That’s how they take care of themselves.”

“It wasn’t like that before.”

“No. It’s not the way it used to be.” Hanamaki says, scratching off a number with a 100 yen. “Men lack faith.”

Hanamaki was wrong. Daichi had plenty of faith.

“I would take care of him.” Iwaizumi mutters to himself. He would make sure Daichi never lacked for anything.

But to do that, Daichi would have to ask.

Daichi doesn’t ask.

Daichi gets a girlfriend in his junior year and stays in Tokyo over winter break. Iwaizumi misses him something fierce. But he is a god who understands the breadth of things. Life moves in cycles. All things die. Even gods. Maybe this is the end of the line for him.

He is at his shrine, staring into the mirror.

At Daichi’s request, Sugawara had been by, bringing gifts.

The glass of sake in front of his shintai has long since frosted over but the bottle is still good. Gods can’t really get drunk but he tries.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. He should have asked Oikawa for pointers, pride be damned. He wonders if Oikawa is too busy.

But then, like a TV with shitty reception, the reflection in the mirror dissolves and he can see Daichi at what looks like a café. He’s sitting with a woman and there is obnoxious pop music playing in the background.

“I’m sorry Daichi-san, it’s not you. I just don’t think we’re compatible.”

“Oh.”

The sake runs down Iwaizumi’s chin.

“What?” He asks.

“We can still be friends.” The woman says, hiding her stupid, fat mouth behind a dainty fist.

“No!” Iwaizumi roars. “You are not friends! You cannot be friends with Daich! I forbid it!”

Iwaizumi has only one follower. No matter what anyone says, he’s not actually strong enough to influence anything one way or another. Not without Daichi’s explicit say so. And Daichi hasn’t said anything like cursing his now ex-girlfriend with a string of bad dates. Or eternal bad luck at coin toss. Or giving her a large pimple. Something.

“Daichi,” he whispers into the mirror. “Come on. Say something.”

Daichi doesn’t necessarily have to say anything. The ex-girlfriend carries on an entire conversation by herself. MVP of the year. Even Daichi’s former libero would have a hard time making receives.

Just what the hell was in Sugawara’s sake?

Daichi sits there and continues to sit there even when she leaves. The entire café is trying very hard not to look his way.

“Shit.” Daichi snorts, looking out the window after a while. “I should have gone home.”

“Yeah you should have.” Iwaizumi gripes. _“You should be here with me.”_

If Daichi happens to be the last believer he has, the only believer he has, Iwaizumi would consider himself a very fortunate god. He would even bet against Ebisu, Daikokuten and the rest of the Seven Lucky Gods.

Daichi stirs sugar into his coffee. One spoon then two, then three, and downs the coffee in one shot. A waitress brings him a complementary latte and a coupon for a free slice of cheese cake. Daichi thanks her and starts pouring sugar into his latte as well.

Everyone holds their breath.

The teaspoon clatters on the plate.

To the swirling cup, Daichi says, “I wish you were here right now Hajime.”

Iwaizumi blinks.

“Oh.”

The surface of the mirror ripples like water and begins to glow.

His shintai disappears from its stand.

When the light clears, Iwaizumi is elsewhere, sitting across from Daichi.

“Hajime?”

“Daichi.”

Their teeth clash together in a kiss. It’s not perfect by any means. Daichi tastes like sugar and vanilla and milk and blood because while his ex had been chattering away, reassuring him that it wasn’t his fault, they were just incompatible, life happens, the works, Daichi had nearly bitten his tongue in two.

And Iwaizumi is just angry enough to push his tongue in Daichi’s mouth, run it behind his teeth and the roof his mouth, until the cuts run dry and scab over, whole and new. The entire café is staring but he doesn’t care. The table is wonderfully solid under his left palm. He pushes his calves against the leather cushions for leverage as he twists the collar of Daichi’s fancy shirt in his fist.

Daichi is flushed and panting by the time they break apart. The ex-girlfriend didn’t know how good she had it.

“You’re here.”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi answers, refusing to let go. “About time. It’s not good to keep a god waiting Daichi.”

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Shintai – physical objects worshipped at or near Shinto shrines as repositories in which spirits or kami reside (from Wikipedia)  
> [2] In the series canon, Sugawara and Daichi met in high school. Not sure about Ikejiri.


End file.
